Rings
by The Silver Trumpet
Summary: "But ravens mate for life." He drew his hand into a fist like he feared she would try to take the ring. "I know it's silly, but humans wear rings when they're married, and I—I really like shiny things." Maleval, contains lemon.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the fic that I have been splitting my time with between the Moorsville Marching Angels and, of course, my summer homework (less than a month to read three books, but whenever I crack one open I end up getting a Maleval fic plotbunny x_x). It takes place about a year and a half after Diaval and Maleficent met, but before the birth of Aurora. A lemon awaits you!**

**Disclaimer: I own not a thing besides my trumpet and the clothes on my back. It's called the "poor musician" costume. Would you like to wear it with me?**

**Reviews are appreciated!**

* * *

Why had she sent him away? She didn't know. The storm howled around her, pushing her nearly off her feet. The snow only grew deeper. It was about her knees. She was freezing. She needed to find shelter. No, she didn't. She needed to find her servant. "Diaval!" she called. She pulled on the bond they shared, the bond between sorceress and familiar. "Diaval!" Where was he? Why had she sent him away? He had angered her. And it was that simple, wasn't it? She was such a petty child. Why had she done this? He could die now. He would, if she didn't find him. Nothing was safe in a blizzard like this. "Diaval!"

A dark shape dove out of the sky, pushed by the force wind. He weighed nearly nothing, but it was just enough to send her staggering backward. She fell back on her ass. The snow clogged up her clothing. It was so cold. She cradled the black, frozen bundle to her chest. He was unconscious. She folded her robe around him and searched for shelter. They didn't have time to get back to the castle. If possible, the temperature got lower. The snow was covered by a layer of ice, and she slipped and slid over it.

She finally tripped over a fallen tree and noticed the hollow beneath its torn roots. Relief flooded her, and with some exhaustion she crawled under it. With several quick spells, she curled the roots and earth down to protect them from the snow, leaving only a few holes for air to creep in. She reluctantly pulled off her cloak and made a bed for the raven on it. Quickly, she cast a spell to change him. He was so cold.

She tore away his frozen, wet clothes. "Diaval, can you hear me?" No response. She noted with some irritation that her clothes were as sodden and frozen as his. _I have to raise his temperature_. Boundaries cast aside, she reluctantly began to unbutton her shirt. It dropped to the ground beside her. With the same care, she slid off her pants, and she reached for him. Visions of the past haunted her eyes. She pushed those thoughts away and crushed herself against him in the tight space. The hollow smelled of earth and rotting trees. "Diaval." What was she supposed to do? She could start a fire, but she didn't have anything to burn. She didn't know enough about warming spells to safely perform one on either of them.

Luckily, she didn't have to worry about it much longer. Diaval let out a moan. "Mistress?" he whispered. His black eyes slid open just a bit. Realization seemed to dawn on him. He clenched his eyes closed and locked his jaw. "Some cuh-cultures might call this buh-buh-bestiality." Her bare breasts were crushed up against him. He wanted to move, but his fingers seemed thick and frozen.

"Others would call it saving your life, you silly bird." She shifted and reached for one of his hands. Her nipples dragged across his flesh, making a shiver pass through both of them. _Warm him up_, she reminded herself, and began to chafe his hand. His face seemed to relax, and she shot him with a stinging hex. Ignoring his cry, she retorted, "Stay awake. It's too cold to sleep."

He grumbled under his breath. His eyes stayed closed. "Why were you calling me? I hadn't even made it to the farmers' fields yet." He curled his arm under his head, wincing when he realized that his hair was frosty and his fingers were blue.

"I saw the clouds. You should have come home as soon as the wind picked up," she chided. She trapped his hand in hers and rubbed at it furiously, watching him wince with the pain. But he offered no complaints. He never complained, not really. He was a good servant. He did everything she asked with few questions, and he rarely failed in his missions. She wondered what she would have done if she wouldn't have found him. Her heart gave a faint ache, and she pushed those thoughts away. They made the stumps on her back burn and smart. "If you can't stay awake, I'll make you talk," she threatened.

His lips quirked into a smile, but, ever respectful of her, his eyes remained closed. "Alright, mistress, I'll talk. What of?"

"Tell a story."

"Once upon a time, there was fairy that was hurting her servant's hands," he muttered. She rolled her eyes and kept chafing his hands, but tried to soften her touch. At her silence, he started again. "There was a…I don't know, mistress, ravens don't tell their kids stories. What was there?"

"It doesn't have to be a made up story. Just talk," she replied, already exasperated with his voice. At his clueless expression, she continued, "How did you get your scars?" His hand had returned to a warmer temperature. She took the other one and contentedly sprawled across his chest, not caring of their bareness while she scrubbed at it. He winced.

"Alright." He was trying not to think that her flesh made his burn. He feared he was going to reveal his secretly harbored feelings for her. Her leg was flung over his thighs. "Um, this one was when I got caught in a snare and a dog got me, but the hunter's daughter was with him and wouldn't let him kill me. And the other one was just a sparrow." His fingers traced over his neck. "These were all a farmer that decided to try to behead me with a pocketknife. I was just lucky with that one; my mother dive-bombed him and took a shit on his head."

She stiffened at that. It sounded very unpleasant. She wondered if, between the two of them, they had enough suffering for a lifetime. "I take it you got away."

"I did. She didn't."

Her hardened heart felt a bit of compassion toward him. Was that why he served her? Was he looking to avenge his mother in the same way she looked to avenge her wings? "I'm sorry." And she was. No child—of any species—deserved to lose their parents, not even if they were adults and long out of the nest.

"It was a long time ago."

"Don't give me that time heals all wounds bullshit. Time fixes nothing except that it makes you forget, and sometimes that's even worse than hurting." Her words were sharp enough to make him flinch, and she regretted them as soon as she said them, but she didn't apologize, nor did she prod him to keep talking. She relaxed as well as she could against him and tried to pretend that there was absolutely nothing strange about lying naked on top of her servant.

His hands settled on the small of her back. A strange sensation passed through her spine and ran up and down her. She tried not to go stiff. The last time hands had touched her back, they had stolen her wings. But Diaval was special. Diaval was a sweet, silly bird man who almost died trying to please her, and he didn't deserve any of her typical crap.

Their hollow had grown warm, but their clothes were still sodden, and lying on top of Diaval was so comforting. Almost without realizing it, she kissed one of the scars on his chest. "Mistress?" he questioned softly. "Are you alright?"

"Perfectly fine." Her tongue snaked over her suddenly dry lips. Another part of her body—oddly enough, with its own set of lips—was getting wet. She kissed his scar again. He didn't move, but his breath hitched in his lungs. She could feel his heartbeat against his ribs. "I can think of a faster way to warm you up, Diaval." She traced her finger over his collarbones. Goosebumps appeared there. "What do you think, hmm?"

His breath fanned across her cheeks. He dared to slide his eyes open. "I think it sounds fine," he replied meekly. His heartbeat was louder than his voice.

Her lips crashed against his. They worked in a unique rhythm, clumsy but right as he tried to match them. She pushed against his lips until her tongue forced its way into him. He gasped. Her hands were running all over him, tracing his scars, touching his taut shoulders, running over his chest. "My little birdy," she hissed. "You've been naughty…" She bit his shoulder, and he whimpered in response. "I think I should punish you, you naughty, naughty birdy."

"Please do," he managed.

"Please do what?"

"Please, mistress," he amended.

She responded by raking her nails across his rump. "That's what I thought, you little naughty birdy." She bit him again, sinking her teeth into soft flesh. Her nails dug into him wherever they touched.

His hands began to ghost over her, warming her but leaving goose-bumps. Then he took her breasts and experimentally grazed her nipples with his thumbs. She responded by biting the scar on his neck. He did it again, and she arched her back toward him and dug her nails into his back, leaving angry red marks. He slid down nimbly and took her nipple into his mouth. She threw her head back. "Naughty birdy." In one smooth movement, he had flipped her over. Her dominance was stolen, but she made no move to steal it back. She had no idea that Diaval knew all about these things.

He sucked hard, listening to her gasp. He dragged his teeth over it lightly. Then, he delicately touched the peak with his tongue repeatedly. Her hands scored down his back, painfully turning him on. He treated the other breast the same way. Her legs tangled with his. They were so close, but not close enough. He looked to her. His hips were ready, acting on animal instinct, because he was a wild creature by birth and by blood. "Mistress?" She nodded. He hesitated a moment longer. "Are you sure?"

"Don't you dare make me wait any longer, or you'll find out how sure I am."

He caught her swollen lips with his and thrust into her. She cried out. Something inside her broke; he felt it dissipate, and he knew this was a position they could never _undo_. Before he could question, she nodded again and shifted her hips. Their bodies fit perfectly together, a lock and key. She was slick and tight around him. He held himself back as long as he dared with his human mind, but animal instincts were taking over, and he was losing control as his rhythm traded itself for force and speed.

But before he had time to realize what was happening, she was somehow on top again, sitting on him with her knees digging into him. Her hands gripped his shoulders. "Naughty birdy. You've been very, very bad." She rocked her hips, sliding up him so just his tip was inside her. He whimpered. "Tell me, my dear servant, what do you want?"

"Please," he whispered. "Mistress, please, please." He was burning. He was going to thrust upward into her if she didn't come down soon. "Mistress, please, please, mistress." He didn't know the words to express his need, but he knew she understood, because she was his mistress, all-knowing and all-powerful.

"That is very vague, little birdy. Are you going to make me guess?" She slid back down onto him. "Is this it, birdy?" She was rising again, rising and falling and rocking at the same time. She gradually gained speed. He bucked at her. Her nails dug into his skin. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her harder down onto him. Her sweet murmurs of, "Birdy," became incoherent cries, and he was glad the storm was too loud for anyone else to hear them.

He shuddered with each slight palpitation of her hips, and he couldn't believe that this—this, of all things!—was happening to him. It was so good and real. It was right there. "Mistress, mistress!"

"My birdy!" Maleficent was never one to lose control, but she couldn't hold back anymore, not as the sensations of a lifetime raced over her. Her leg muscles convulsed about him, and he felt her squeezing, squeezing, tighter and tighter, and then he was gone. Her back arched and she collapsed onto his chest, completely spent. "Little birdy pet," she murmured into his neck.

He kissed the little red marks his teeth and fingernails had left on her, though he knew they were nowhere as bad as the ones she had left on him. "I'm going to kiss my mistress and make her all better," he promised quietly. He meant it. He massaged between her shoulder blades where she often ached, and he felt the constant tension there fade away, if only for a little bit.

She laughed softly in his ear. "Sweet little birdy." She was too broken to be fixed. But now, just now, in this moment, she was whole. She rested her cheek on his warm chest. His chill was gone. "Thank you."

"Whatever you need, mistress." Their voices were growing hazed with sleep, but they had no fear, warmed by each other.

* * *

Maleficent couldn't believe what she had done. She had completely taken advantage of him. She was incapable of loving. She was abusing him. She had—gods, she had _used_ him in the worst of ways! She had violated him! What the hell was she thinking? He was her servant, not her sex toy! He had feelings, too! And now—now what was she supposed to do? She didn't want to hurt him. He didn't deserve to be—

The ache in her back returned, slicing her thoughts off like a knife. But, before she had a chance to even push her shoulder blades together, Diaval was rubbing the ache away with his nimble thumbs. She hadn't even realized he was awake. The tension in her back dissipated. Her feathery stumps twitched in frustration that they hadn't been able to cause her pain longer, but her servant kept massaging her until they stilled, and she let out a sigh she didn't know she'd been holding.

He finally greeted her. "Mistress." His voice was cautious, exploratory. He had seen the look on her face. He knew he was going to face rejection.

"Diaval." _Sweet little birdy_, a voice mocked. "Morning." It was not a good morning. More than just her back was sore.

Silence ensued for a long moment until he reached for his clothes. "I'm sorry," he whispered. It broke what was left of her heart. He shouldn't have to apologize for anything, because he had done absolutely nothing wrong. He had given her exactly what she wanted. And he waited.

"My fault," she admitted brokenly. With a wave of her hands, he was a bird. She pulled open the exit to the hollow, and he flew out, heading to the kingdom with several loud caws. He was flying a bit crooked, and she realized with a prickle of guilt that she wasn't the only one that was sore. In how many ways was she destined to take advantage of him? And for how long would he restrain his complaints? How long would it be before he grew utterly sick of her and just ran away? The thought made her sick to her stomach.

And then she_ knew_. She was wrong about herself. She wasn't incapable of loving. The sweet little birdy had ensnared her heart in his dark talons, and that scared her so badly that she was willing to hurt him to protect herself. And that, somehow, was worse. She had still used him to drown her own sorrows. Burying her head into her hands, she didn't care that the chill was getting in. Let her freeze to death. It would hurt less.

Diaval returned by nightfall with light frost clinging to his wings. He gave her the day's report—"They're all in their rooms cuddling while being doted on by their poor servants, even though they're the ones with decent clothing!" he huffed indignantly—and then awkwardly shifted away from her. The frost in his hair melted and dripped down his face. Maleficent thought it looked like tears tracking down his face, and she didn't like that, so she wiped it away with her hand. His comment about the royals and their butlers reminded her oddly of their own relationship. Her heart ached.

A flash on his left hand drew her attention. "What is this?" She lifted his hand. On his ring finger, he sported a silver band with a tiny engraving of wings.

He pulled it away from her almost protectively and refused to meet her eyes as he explained, "I know…I know that you think what happened yesterday was a mistake, mistress. But ravens mate for life." He drew his hand into a fist like he feared she would try to take the ring. "I know it's silly, but humans wear rings when they're married, and I—I really like shiny things."

This was what she had done to him. She forced herself on him, she abused her power over him, and he gave her his heart in return. She wanted to run away. She needed to run away because she loved him, and she didn't believe in love. But she did. And now? Now he was hers, whether or not either of them liked it. So she drawled, "The only thing I think is silly is the fact that you didn't get me one."

He blinked at her, surprised for a moment. Then he uncurled his fist, where a second ring rested in his palm. It, too, was silver with an engraving of wings. She delicately took it and slid it onto her finger. He gave a soft, almost sad smile, and in a weird moment of bravery, he placed a kiss on one severe cheekbone. The little hollow was growing warm, but they didn't act on the tension between them, instead just lying next to each other.

Long after her new…ugh_, mate_ had fallen asleep, she rotated the ring on her finger. It was a pretty thing, and she wondered where he had found matching rings with wings. Her heart skipped a beat. She kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured. She traced the scars on his neck. _If any human ever lays a finger on him again, I'll behead him, and I won't need a pocketknife to do it_.

His sleepy eyes flicked open. "Mistress?" He yawned. "You okay?"

"Yes, fine. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," she soothed.

"Mmm." He rolled onto his other side. She didn't miss that his scar was now hidden from her, and she knew then that she wasn't the only one of them that was broken. "Night," he murmured.

"Night, birdy." She withdrew her hand. They all had scars. Some ran deeper than others. But, if she could, she would try to heal his. It was the least she could do for her most loyal servant and new…ugh,_ mate_. She hated that word. _Though,_ she supposed,_ it's not quite as bad as the L-word._ She shivered a bit and slipped to sleep with disturbed thoughts.

She was flying. Then she was falling. And when she jerked awake, her back and shoulders gave such an aching pain that she could barely move. So she groaned instead, blinking blearily at Diaval's form. He rolled over to face her. His eyes widened knowingly, and he rubbed the pain away. "You have a fever," he told her softly. "Go back to sleep." Since when was he the one giving the orders? It didn't matter. She was too tired to complain. She sighed. Her hand was heavy with his ring. She had a question for him, didn't she? She couldn't remember what it was, and he had left the hollow. Her eyes fluttered close. It couldn't have been important.

He returned with water in a canteen. He handed it to her, but she didn't drink, and he didn't comment, instead just rubbing her back when it ached. She slept, and then she awoke, and then she slept, and she dreamed. She hated it. The dreams were fine; she could handle them. She hated Diaval seeing her so weak. She hated that he was prepared to dote on her every need. "Mistress?" he whispered. "Are you awake?"

"I am," she replied hoarsely.

"Are you thirsty?"

The words brought back memories. She didn't like memories. She glared at him icily, and he stiffened, wondering what he had done wrong, before he realized that she had been drugged before. He took a swig out of the canteen and then looked at her again, his hand held out in offering. His ring was a pledge of loyalty.

Her hand took the canteen and drank from it. Her ring was a pledge of trust. She leaned head on his shoulder, and after a moment's pause, he curled his arm around her waist. "Thank you," she whispered. His response was pressing his lips into her hair, right in between her horns. And that was when she felt it—his love, so pure and true and untarnished, being given to her so freely. Her heart skipped a beat. She loved again. She wasn't sure whether or not that was good, yet. She thought she would sleep on it.

When she awoke again, it was nightfall. She blinked to Diaval, but he was slumped against the back of the hollow. She popped a crick out of her neck and rubbed her eyes. Then she squinted at him. Darkness encircled the hollows beneath his eyes. "Birdy?" She cursed the word as soon as it left her lips.

He snatched awake. "Mistress! You're awake." He yawned. "I just nodded off, is all. Do you feel okay?"

She blinked back at him. "How long was I down?" She scanned his haggard face and ruffled hair with the feathers sticking up everywhere, his eyes nearly empty.

"Um…" He began to count on his fingers. "Three…three days, I think?" he guessed. "Yeah. That seems about," he yawned loudly, "right."

Her eyes softened. "You haven't slept, have you?" He blearily shook his head. "You silly bird." She pushed him down. The hollow was too small for him to lie down with his legs unbent, but he didn't seem concerned. He folded them up compliantly. She pushed him over and lay next to him.

His dark eyes blinked slowly, trying to fight the inevitable. "Are you…" He couldn't decide how to finish his question. His ringed hand fumbled for hers.

She squeezed it lightly and let her fingers relax. "I'm fine now. Go to sleep, birdy." She touched his cheek and let the cool ring rest there against his skin until his face relaxed into a smile and his eyes fluttered close in rest. She soon followed him into the land of slumber, and she was haunted by no dreams.

She was awake by dawn, thoroughly rested and healthy, but Diaval's exhaustion left him sound asleep. Her back and shoulders gave their usual dull ache, but she ignored it and went to gather them some breakfast. She gathered some berries and apples from some of the enchanted trees that never died in winter, and she headed back to the hollow. The snow was melting, though it would probably come down once again before winter's end. She figured it was about time they returned to their dilapidated palace. _ Their_ palace? Well, it was _hers_; Diaval usually slept on the ground outside, or in a nearby tree as a raven, but she thought that was going to end, if he desired it.

She returned to him. He stirred when she touched his shoulder, but he didn't wake. She sighed and arched her back, earning a satisfying crackle. But the pain didn't fade. She pushed her shoulder blades together and rolled her shoulders back. She hadn't realized how much she relied on his touch; once she knew how easily he could make her pain dissipate, she craved it. He was a balm to her open wounds. And she wondered why it took her so long to realize it.

His eyelids flickered. "Mistress?" He yawned. The dark circles were still under his eyes, but he didn't look as haggard or spent as he had the night before. He rubbed them and gave a small smile as he took in the glint of his ring, which reminded him of his promised heart to her.

"Are you hungry?"

He nodded, and he showed none of her reservations in accepting her offering of blackberries. He ate scantily, and his head bobbed like a bird in a way that made the corners of her lips lift fondly. "Sorry, mistress, I should've been awake."

"Nonsense," she quipped. "You're exhausted. Go back to sleep." Without thinking, her tiny smile took a peck on his lips, clearing the blackberry juice from them.

"But…I need…" He yawned. "The kingdom…and…"

She rolled her eyes. "You would never gather anything of importance this tired." She rolled her shoulders back again and tried to push a crack out of her aching spine. It didn't escape his notice. He rubbed the tension away with his nimble fingers. She gave a grateful sigh. "_Sleep_," she ordered once again.

He nodded and leaned back against the wall, letting his eyes fall closed. After he appeared to have fallen asleep, she summoned a book and began to read quietly to herself. It was a morbid, dark tale about a young wizard and his journey into the magical world. Her lips moved along with the words, though she didn't speak aloud, and she let the day pass by the turning of pages and the sound of Diaval's steady breathing.

She sighed and tilted her head back, gazing out at the setting sun. The ache had returned in her back and shoulders from hunching over her book all day. The cramped hollow seemed to be growing smaller, and she made a mental note to move them back to the palace tomorrow, assuming Diaval was no longer a walking zombie. When night fell, she made herself as comfortable as possible, lying next to him. No room was no problem. She curled against his chest and tried to relax. His arm found itself strewn across her waist, and she let out a bated breath. She slipped into a quiet, gentle sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Diaval's form vanished into the dawn sky. He wasn't sure exactly what was happening between him and his mistress, but he liked it. He liked that he could finally touch her without her shrinking away in pain and fear, and he liked that she let him give her reserved signs of affection. He liked the way the silver ring glinted on her finger, and he liked the soft feeling that came into his human chest when he saw it, and he liked the gentle way she would whisper, "Birdy," to him. He liked the way their noses would bump in the night when she would shiver awake from dreams and comfort herself by kissing him.

But his fragile raven heart was distracting his keen raven mind. He needed to focus to gather information. He flew to a castle window and peered inside. Blinking, he let his eyes adjust to the dim light. The disgusting, revolting, good-for-nothing, rattler-in-the-shape-of-a-man, wing snatching, heart breaking—Diaval cut off his thoughts and tried again. The _king_ and his hideous wife were still curled in their bed under thick blankets while maids and butlers bustled in and out in their torn clothing.

He blinked down at them where the queen's hand had slipped out from under her blanket. Her hand was still barren of the ring that he had swiped. With a glance at the king, he felt satisfaction prickle in his chest. So they hadn't replaced their little wedding badges yet. He knew it was childish and even dangerous for him to dare to snatch them right off their hands, but they'd been sleeping, and he couldn't stand the idea of that disgusting, revolting, good-for-nothing, rattler-in-the-shape-of-a-man daring to wear rings with wing engravings.

The king finally rolled out of bed and began to put on his robes and crown, and the queen rose as well, but did not speak to him. They rarely spoke to each other. It was pretty obvious that the queen was averse to her husband. Diaval pushed those thoughts from his mind and watched as the woman opened up her—ooh, her jewelry box! His interest perked. Everything was all shiny and reflective and, oh gods, he was going to melt! She chose a necklace and put it on, following her husband out of the room.

Diaval dove down to the box where the lid was still ajar. Oh, they were all so very pretty! He wished he could lift the whole box, but it was far too cumbersome. He glanced over the various shiny things, all pretty and feminine. Maleficent didn't wear much jewelry (he still hypothesized that she only wore his ring to keep from hurting his feelings), but he didn't care. She didn't have to wear them. He would dangle them from tree branches around his nest, if nothing else. Shiny things didn't have to be worn; they just had to be_ admired._

He finally selected a diamond necklace, but oh, the one with the emerald charm was so glorious, and the one with a gold gem was pretty, and the one with the sapphire was the most watery shade of azure… He ended up being weighed down by all four of them. He left the window and, though he had gathered almost no worthwhile information, he turned to head home. She might be angry, but he could always go out again. The opportunity to snatch up so many pretty things was simply too good to pass by.

By the time he was heading past the tree line into the moors, his wings were complaining at the extra weight, and his talons were starting to ache. He cawed out loudly. It was never particularly hard to find his mistress; she was always either in the palace, by her throne, or wandering about the moors healing trees and animals. On second thought, it would be a bit difficult to find her. But he would do it.

He cawed and cawed, swooping around while searching for the shadow of her horns until her voice summoned him. "Back so soon, birdy?" He flew down to her and dropped his four little prizes into her hand. He then perched on her wrist and clacked his beak affectionately at her soft fingers parting his feathers. "You little thief," she teased. He pressed his face against her severe cheekbone and gave a soft crooning sound. Her ring glinted against the afternoon light. His chest got that familiar warm feeling. "Come along, then. Home we go." He didn't fly away, and she rolled her pretty eyes and began to walk back to their palace, his little treasures clasped in her hand.

"I have to know; where ever did you happen across such gems?"

He bit his lip, as he had taken to doing when he felt put on the spot, and stared across the bed at her hands. "Um. Well, see, it was really all the queen's fault, because she was the one that left the box wide open."

Her eyes widened just a bit, and she quietly asked, "You went inside the castle?" He nodded, a bit ashamed. "I don't want you to go in there anymore. It's an unnecessary risk." Her lips curled downward slightly, as they did when she was very serious. "Your job is to spy, not to steal," she reminded him.

"But I _like_ shiny things!" he protested feebly.

She sighed. "You shouldn't risk your life for such petty trinkets." Her eyes narrowed. "I take it that you snatched the rings from the queen, as well?"

His cheeks tinted pink. "One of them." Her eyes questioned him with a daintily raised eyebrow, and though he feared she would be angry with him, he admitted his deed—how he had snatched the rings right off their hands while they slept. "The queen's was too loose, so it slipped right off, but I thought I was going to have to bite the king's whole damn finger off. Swollen rattler bastard."

Anger curled in her eyes, and he mentally cringed. "Do you know how dangerous that little stunt was?" Her voice was soft and threatening, laced with toxic venom. It would have hurt less if she'd hit him. "Do you have any idea just how much you mean? To _me?_" His heart skipped a beat at that quiet admittance. "You are never to enter those walls again. _Ever_. Do you understand?"

His head bobbed instead of nodded. "Yes, mistress," he agreed almost silently. He reached for her shoulder and began to rub it with his pleasant hands, chasing away her aches. She sleepily sighed. He let the tension trickle away from her, and then he snaked his arms around her abdomen. He interlocked his fingers and kissed her temple. He never whispered the three words that came to his lips. He knew they would hurt her, and he didn't want that. He instead proved his love for her through the tiny actions of comfort that she let him perform.

She gradually leaned back into his chest. The stumpy remnants of her wings poked against him, and she tried to shift so he wouldn't have to touch the hideous scars, but his hands were firmly planted about her. She was stiff, but he unhooked his hands and began to massage her shoulders again. "How do you…" She wasn't sure how to finish her question. _How do you love me? How is it possible?_ She gave a sigh and twisted the ring on her finger. The skin there was going raw from getting dirt under it, but she hadn't taken it off since he gave it to her.

"Mistress?" he questioned.

"Never mind." She thought, _I wish he wouldn't call me that anymore, _but didn't voice it to him. To announce something so freely would be to tell him that her heart was his, and she was so scared of that. It terrified her, the power that she had given him.

His fingers scratched at the base of her horns. She went still. Gods, since when could he do that? She almost let out an audible moan. Her spine began to tingle. She tilted her head back slowly to grant him better access. How did he know exactly how to touch her? How did he always know what she needed, sometimes before she did? He persisted in his touches, ever so gently raking his fingernails across her scalp. A blissful sigh left her lips before she could restrain it. "Birdy," she murmured.

His fingers were acting almost of their own accord. "Do you like this, mistress?"

_Yes. Far more than I should like anything_. Her only reply was a mewling sound. She wanted to turn around, to crush her face against his, but she didn't want to move for fear of his hands stopping their pleasurable movements. Then, she could no longer restrain her strong desires. She whirled around and crushed her lips against his. He let out a strangled, "Mmf!" of surprise, but his lips quickly caught on to her rhythm. Her hands slipped under his shirt and stroked his flesh.

He scratched at her horns even more furiously. His hands tangled in her hair, and she moaned into his lips. She straddled his hips and pulled at his shirt until he let her tear it away. "Good birdy." She ran her hands over his pale flesh.

His eyes grew into saucers while she reached to unbuckle his pants. He reached for another kiss and began to unbutton her gown. "Mistress." He kissed down her jawline and suckled on her neck.

Her gown formed a pool on the floor beside them, and they began to roll across the bed in a struggle for dominance, until Maleficent was so hormone-addled and weak-kneed at his touch that she tangled her hands in his hair and whispered, "I want you to fuck me_ senseless_, little birdy." He complied, thrusting into her with a strength she didn't know he possessed. She cried out, but when he hesitated, she snarled, "I don't want to be able to _walk_ tomorrow!"

He obeyed her wishes. When he feared he was hurting her, she would breathe encouragements into his ear, until finally they were both pleasurably spent lying next to each other. She rested her head on his chest while he rubbed her bare back and shoulders. "Beautiful," he whispered. "Beautiful mistress." He toyed with her hair and massaged her shoulders until she went to sleep.

* * *

The morning came with aches and pains for both of them, but especially for Maleficent, who—as she had requested—could barely walk. Diaval apologized profusely until she threatened to spell his mouth shut, and he doted on her every beck and call, which really wasn't that different from normal. It was too cold for him to be out flying, as Maleficent said, so he spent the day lying bored on the bed next to her. "There has got to be something I can do."

"It is not my job to entertain you."

"It's your job to boss me around. Make me do something to entertain myself."

She sighed and fumbled around for her small collection of books that she kept just under her side of the bed. She threw one onto his chest. "Read."

His brow fuddled and his mouth curled into a perplexed frown, but he agreed, "Alright," and opened the book.

She turned the page in her own novel and kept reading, though she was growing frustrated with the plotline. He turned the pages of his book unnervingly fast, until her mind was too busy listening to the rustle of pages to read. "There is no way you are reading that quickly."

His voice was slightly dumbfounded. "I can't read, mistress. I was just looking at the pictures." He let the book fall closed and laid it on his chest, pushing his hands behind his head. He stared blankly at the gray ceiling and tried to spot patterns there, like he sometimes did with the clouds, but unlike the clouds the ceiling never changed.

She dropped both of their books onto the ground and fished for another one. "I'll read to you, then." She selected the one she wanted and cracked it open. "This is a poetry book." Then she cleared her throat, and she began, "Once, upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore…" She spun the little tale upon his ears. She nearly had it memorized. She loved the darkness of this particular poem and the first sector of the book in general; it didn't possess the frilly romanticism many poems loved to praise and adore.

"I hope that wasn't a distasteful jest toward ravens, mistress," he teased when she finished.

She gave him a soft but stern look and took his hand. He smiled at her, hoping to lighten the serious look written on her face, but it didn't change much. She clearly wanted to say something, but didn't. She instead just kissed his palm and wriggled closer to him so he could see the little pictures drawn on the side of the pages. He let his lips brush her temple. She started again, "Gaily bedight, a gallant knight in sunshine and in shadow…"

He paid careful attention to not the words, but to the way her lips moved, to the way her eyes trailed down the page while she read aloud, to the exact tone and timbre of her voice. He leaned closer so that he could feel her breathing. Her silver ring glinted while she turned the pages, reading poem after poem to him, some longer than others, some sadder than others, but almost all morbid in some way. She read through the day and into the night, until she finished the first sector of the book and they were both struggling to hold open their eyes. They slipped under the blankets and curled together like puppies.

He kissed one severe cheekbone and wrapped his arm around her waist. Before he realized what he was doing, he whispered, "I love you," into her ear.

The reaction was immediate. She went rigid and flipped over to look him in the face. Tears swam there, and he swallowed hard. He wanted to apologize, but he didn't, because apologizing would imply that he didn't mean it, and he didn't think he had ever meant a statement more before in his life. She looked so betrayed and afraid. Then, softly, she whispered, "I love you, too." She buried herself in his arms, and he pretended not to notice the single tear that rolled down her face. "Birdy," she murmured.

"Mistress," he returned in the same gentle tone. Together, they went to sleep.

She dreamed horrible dreams, and she awoke sweating and thrashing against Diaval's arms, but his voice soothed her wounds and heart. His keen mind recited one of the short poems to her, and she managed to relax into him. "Thank you." He hugged her close and kissed her temple, and she found comfort there.

By dawn, their soreness had faded, but Maleficent didn't rise as she usually did. For the first time in a very long time, she wasn't eager to fling herself from the bed and her night terrors, but was instead content to rest in his arms. "Morning," he greeted quietly.

He moved to slide his arms away from her, but she pinned them to her sides. "Not yet. This is nice."

He kissed her cheek. "Alright." After a few more minutes, he added, "If I don't go now, I'll be back late."

"You're not going today."

"I haven't gone in two days, mistress."

"I don't care. It's too cold for you to be out." She rolled over to face him and let him scratch around her horns again. Shivers ran up and down her spine. "You are _far_ too precious to be thrown out into the cold to freeze half to death again." She touched his cheek and felt the slight heat of a blush crawl under her palm. "Besides, I like having you around, birdy." She kissed him quickly, lightly, in a way that made them both want more, so she kissed him again, deeper. He pulled her close to him and let their warm bodies brush gently.

When the two of them finally grew tired of cuddling, they wandered out of the palace together, where Diaval understood her aversion to letting him fly. Snow cascaded down beautifully and icicles hung from the trees, but it was downright frigid. He pulled his robe tighter about himself and followed her through the frozen forest. There were few signs of life. All of the birds, save for Diaval, of course, had gone south for the winter. Many little creatures were hibernating. And what little remained fled in the presence of their queen, whose entire demeanor changed from private to public. He trailed behind her obediently, as he always had before, and when she stopped, he did so a few yards behind.

Her voice summoned him. "Diaval, come here." He approached and stood next to her, looking at her rigid face. The emotions never showed there, not in public and rarely around him. She laced her fingers through his and smirked one of her haughty smirks before continuing to walk. She tugged firmly on his arm whenever his old habits commanded him to follow her rather than walk beside her. The woodland creatures peered from their hidey holes out at the two of them. Maleficent gave each of them a threatening glare.

"Mistress?" She ignored his questioning voice, and he fell into silence and decided to pretend that he knew why she wanted to show them off like the diamond necklace she had placed around her neck. His heartbeat picked up just a little. He hadn't noticed her putting it on.

They patrolled around the forests hand in hand, and by nightfall they returned home to their bed and curled together. Diaval kissed the tip of her nose and touched her bosom, which she returned in kind with a tender kiss to his lips. She looped her arms around him and dragged him close to her, so they fit together in a ball of warmth. The scar tissue on his neck pressed against her cheek, but he didn't seem afraid, and he made no moves to adjust her position. Her eyelashes brushed his skin when she blinked. He was so warm.

He rubbed her shoulders and back gently. The muscles relaxed under his touch. He kissed her cheek. "Pretty mistress," he cooed, stroking her hair. So he had unwrapped it without her noticing. How clever of him.

"I'm not shiny enough for you, birdy," she teased.

He continued stroking her muscles and tired back. "You are much prettier than any of my shiny things, mistress." He found a stubborn knot and worked at it until it dissipated. "More precious than any little gemstone." She squeezed him tightly and blinked hard, forcing herself to keep the threatening tears in her eyes. "Pretty rocks catch the eye. But you caught my heart." He felt her eyelashes wet his neck, and he tensed his grip on her. "Mistress, please don't cry. I'm sorry."

She gave a mirthless, shaky laugh. "Why do you have to be so damn poetic, birdy?" She curled closer to him. She wasn't crying, not really. There were no tears, only enough moisture to fool Diaval into thinking she was crying. But his words hurt her, they hurt her and they healed her at the same time, a balm on her burns. They hurt her because she didn't deserve his love, his utter adoration, and she had done nothing whatsoever to earn it except enslave him. They healed her because in them, there was a chance, just a tiny chance, that maybe she wasn't completely hopeless yet. Maybe she wasn't completely gone yet. Maybe she could still be partially, if not completely, fixed.

He inhaled deeply in her hair. "I love you," he whispered. She buried herself in him. She couldn't speak for the tears that choked her. Instead, she kissed the scars on his chest and closed her eyes. Feelings were all around her. They threatened to suffocate her. She was afraid but she was safe. She was safe. This was Diaval. Diaval was safety. Diaval was love. Diaval was wings. Diaval was safety. And he was hers, only _hers_, his heart pledged to her until the end of his life because of silly raven nature.

She was his as much as he was hers. The ring on her finger proved it, regardless of whether or not it had once belonged to Stefan's wife. Its symbolism was her faith in her mate, her servant, her closest friend. She loved it. She loved him. Couldn't she tell him? Maybe if she just skipped around that ugly L-word. "And I you, birdy." That was simple enough. It was, in fact, simple enough to sleep soundly on.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I was too lazy to put a note on the last chapter. The poetry quotes were from Edgar Allan Poe's "The Raven" and "Eldorado". The ones in this chapter are from "I carry your heart with me" by E. E. Cummings and Elizabeth Barrett Browning's Sonnets 43 and 14. There is also a quote featured from one of my brass directors: "Somewhere between rage and serenity, we find energy and precision." **

**But that's enough of quoting all the little things I stole to put into this work. This chapter covers a lot of time, because every time I open my document I feel like I'm getting further and further from what I've established will be the end, and I still need to finish Moorsville, write a sequel to Sunshine (yes, I****_ am_**** trying to work on it), and, of course, finish my summer homework. The sequel to Sunshine, if it ever gets done, will probably be up after school starts. **

**Disclaimer: I own not a thing.**

* * *

This was going to hurt her. Gods, it was going to hurt her. Why did he have such a wretched job? Why hadn't she let him go to the castle all winter so they could've known about this beforehand? Why did he have to be the one to cause her the pain of revealing that that hideous human had produced some vile offspring? He cawed loudly and swept down toward her. He fell almost to his knees before her, but steadied himself and rose. "Well?" she questioned.

He could already tell it was a bad day for her. She'd awoken with such terrible back pains that she could barely move, and it hurt for him to chase them away. He scanned over the emerald hanging from her neck and swallowed hard. "Well, I saw nothing, but there's been a…um, a…"

"What?" she demanded sharply.

He flinched and flicked his eyes down to the silver band on her finger. His own placed a familiar weight there on his hand. "A child," he grated out. "King Stefan and the queen have had a child." His hand reached out to hers for just a moment, but retracted. She wouldn't want to be touched now. Not even if her shoulders ached too badly for her to stand without her staff. Not even if her back was positively on fire. "There will be a christening. They say it's to be a grand celebration."

Her eyes alit. Oh, boy, she had an _idea!_ A small smirk worked its way onto his face. Animals were never pointlessly cruel, but Diaval was no longer an animal, and he wanted some vengeance almost as badly as she wanted it. "A grand celebration…for a _baby_." She spat the word with venom. "How _wonderful_." He nodded eagerly.

It seemed only seconds later that he was swooping into the castle—as he'd been ordered to never do again—after his mistress. He hung on her every word, purring and croaking at her stroking of his feathers while she addressed their enemy, their buffoon of an enemy in red and purple robes and a hideous crown. Then there was the curse; it went by as a blur. And then, the enemy was kneeling, begging, kneeling and begging, beseeching and imploring as his councilmen looked on. Diaval felt such an immense satisfaction go through his chest that he nearly crowed aloud. _Grovel in the dirt, you slimy rattler!_ His feathers were ruffled. The green magic forced the crowd back, but the raven was untouched by it. He remained steady by her side until they were fleeing the castle, and she flung him high in the air and screamed for him not to come down to the range of the archers' arrows.

He obeyed her wishes, even if the strong breezes slammed him around like a child caught in a river's current. No arrow would hurt her; she had protective armor and magic keen enough to kill the entire army if she wanted. So he kept to the headwinds until they safely crossed back into the moors. He perched on her shoulder and felt the magic outpour from her while the massive briars curled up from the ground, and the whole of the moorlands darkened, but he was not afraid. He would never fear her.

"You vain little birdy," she cooed while he preened his feathers. Her eyes were different than before, darker, with more sorrow than he had ever seen in her before. But she would not change him back until she desired his human form. Her back was aching. Wouldn't she let him take away her pain? He clacked his beak at her and fondly tugged a strand of her hair. She scratched at the base of his spine, and he purred in return. She stroked his feathers just so while she walked. He balanced on her wrist and nipped at her fingers when she stopped petting him. "Demanding little birdy." She took him back to their palace, and when she changed him, he didn't use his words, instead just opening his arms and letting her come to their warmth.

He rubbed her aches out of her back and whispered quiet encouragements in her ear while she leaned into him. She needed to forget. She needed to remember. She needed to undo it. She needed to relive it. She was good. She was evil. Confused thoughts curled around her like smoke while his concerned eyes peered into her very soul. Regardless of what she was, she was not alone. Good, evil, loved, hated, she was not alone. "I'm here," he murmured. His fingers made the aches leave her body, but not her soul. They would never completely leave her soul; she was scarred.

But, even if it was just temporary, even if it just lasted a few hours, he could make her whole. He always could make her whole once more. So she kissed him fervently and dragged him down into the bed with her. She was a creature of such need, such intense passion and desire, that somewhere between rage and serenity she found energy and precision. She acted upon her needs, and he gave her what she needed as he always did. And when she was whole once more in his arms, she could live with herself, and she could sleep without worry of nightmares.

"I love you," Diaval reminded her quietly. He kissed her forehead. "Don't forget that, ever."

She twisted the ring on her finger. "Never," she promised.

* * *

The last time Diaval went to the castle, he returned with a badly mauled wing and the news that the kingdom had discovered their secret of being mates. She forbade him from ever returning, even when he protested that he could still be of good use to her. To that, she responded that she much preferred him nearby than far away on secret, dangerous spy missions. And they began to care for the baby from afar, wasting their days watching their enemy's daughter grow and prosper.

Two years later, the raven perched on a branch above the cottage and watched down below. Maleficent had gone to patrol the thorn border. He usually went with her, but she had requested that he stay behind for one reason or another, and he obeyed without question. He always obeyed without question. But the sun was setting, and she had left him more than two hours ago. He was starting to grow afraid that something had happened to her. So he left his branch and swooped down along the thorn barrier until he found her still form lying on the ground with an arrow protruding from her abdomen.

He cawed and cawed frantically, pushing his head under her hand until she stirred. "Dia…?" she questioned. Magic lazily floated from her fingers.

"Mistress," he whispered urgently. He glanced one way, then the other. It was too open, too dangerous for them. "I'm going to take you home, mistress. Hold still." He slipped his arms underneath her and scooped her up against him. She cried out incoherent garbles while he crooned softly to her until he laid her on the soft bed in their palace. "Mistress, tell me what to do." She couldn't manage to produce a word. He was left to his knowledge of human doctors. He grabbed the arrow. "Alright. Lie still. This will hurt." And hurt it did. She nearly shrieked while he pulled it out of her, and she writhed afterward. The iron arrowhead had cauterized the wound so little blood leaked out, but it had gone in deep, and the iron had poisoned her blood. It smelled like burnt flesh.

She was only conscious of pain and a rocking gait beneath her, and then she was conscious of pain and a soft feeling, and then she was conscious of the ripping agony through her body. Why was he hurting her? Couldn't he just hold her? He always made her pain go away. He never caused her pain. "Mistress, please hold still. I'm trying to help you." His voice was pleading with her, but she couldn't understand what it was saying. He was wrapping something around her middle tightly so she could barely breathe. She clawed at his robes. Couldn't he just hold her? That was all she wanted.

There was a blackness dragging at the back of her mind. She didn't want to go to it. She tightened her clasp on his black shirt. "Dia…Diaval. Diaval," she breathed, trying to draw his attention to her. She panted hard with the effort of speaking. It made her belly ache much worse than it had before. "Diaval." His name contained the secrets of her universe, and she pulled harder on his shirt. The blackness was taking her away. But she needed to tell him something. "Diaval. I love you. I love you." She repeated it frantically, fearfully. "I love you, Diaval, love you."

He wrapped her in his arms. "I love you. I love you," he murmured in reply. Her clutching at his clothing loosened. Her eyes fell closed almost sleepily. "I've got you," he promised. "I've got you."

She was losing her grasp on her mind. Everything was tumbling apart in shrapnel. The iron had poisoned her blood, and she was floundering in the blackness of insanity. She wasn't unconscious, for she could still hear his voice and feel his touch, but her eyes wouldn't bring themselves to open, and she couldn't move. Then, gradually even he faded, and all there was around her was a tumultuous blackness of fear. "Diaval!" Her voice echoed back at her. "I'm scared," she admitted quietly, hoping selfishly her fear would attract him.

He came to her in the blackness, but his ring was no longer on his hand, and he taunted her loudly. He seemed to multiply until there were hundreds of Diavals around her, all cawing and croaking and jeering at her, all bearing fingers with no rings.

She tried to calm herself down. She'd been poisoned. She would hallucinate, and she would recover. She just had to find a way out of the darkness, didn't she? Yes, yes, that would work. So she began to wander around. She called out to Diaval every once in a while. Sometimes she could hear his voice and feel him clinging to her physical body. Sometimes the sensations faded. Sometimes they vanished altogether. "Hello?" she called. "Someone?" There was a faint light in the distance. "Who's there?"

"You don't want to go there." A voice echoed around her.

"I need to go to Diaval."

"You won't find him there."

"But his voice—"

"The voice is not his. Go back now. It is not your time to enter the tunnel. Turn back now, and sleep, child, to give your body rest. Your mate awaits." And the lonely, empty blackness seemed to fill up when she slipped into a deep, restful sleep.

* * *

She opened her eyes into slits. The palace was dark, but it was still bright to her eyes. Diaval was curled into her side. He had only recently fallen asleep; there were fresh tear tracks on his cheeks. "Birdy?" she whispered, just a faint word on the wind, but it was enough to wake him.

"Mistress?" His black eyes were reddened around the edges. His face broke out into a grin. "You're alive." His voice was nearly as soft as hers, as though he feared speaking too loudly would hurt her. "I thought…the iron, you were poisoned…and then you stopped breathing, and I couldn't feel your pulse." He pressed his wet cheek against hers and interlocked their fingers.

She heard the brokenness of his voice and tried to lean toward him, but her stomach ached and burned. She was still healing. Iron wounds took a long time to heal. "I love you," she whispered to him.

He pressed his lips to her cheek. "I love you." He rubbed at her shoulders, driving a knot out of her back, before handing her the canteen.

She drank from it without question. She trusted him. She had faith. Her ring was her pledge of faith in him, pledge of knowing that he would never harm her and trusting that he would care for her, even when she failed to care for herself. Thoughtfully, she reached to twist the ring. But it was gone. She stiffened, and he looked at her with questions written in his eyes. "Where's my ring?" she asked softly. She felt her finger again, but the only sign there was that she had ever worn a ring was the imprint it left behind.

He frowned. "I…I don't know. It must have fallen off when I carried you back." He hesitantly, reluctantly, asked, "Do you want me to go look for it?"

She tried to relax. It was just a piece of jewelry. It was a mere trinket. But Diaval had given it to her. "No…Stay here." She gave a slight smile. "I want you here."

He kissed her forehead. "Alright," he agreed. He scratched around her horns and smelled her hair. "I was so scared…" he admitted softly. "Without you, I am nothing." He relished in the warmth that she gave off and held her close so that her breaths touched his cheeks. "I'll get you another ring, okay? I'll get you another one, and it'll be even prettier than that one, and it'll fit just right because it'll be made especially for you and for you alone, mistress."

Her eyes were closed, but she felt all of his gentle touches and caresses and murmured words. "Don't call me that anymore, birdy. My name is…just fine." She gently squeezed their intertwined fingers and wished she was strong enough to kiss him.

He rested his crown against her temple. "Okay," he agreed softly. He was still crying. She wanted more than anything to wipe away his little tears, to kiss them away and comfort him that she was still here, with him, and she wouldn't leave him. "Is this alright? Am I hurting you?"

"No, my sweet." She could feel sleep pulling at her. "Go to sleep. I'm right here." He rested his head on her shoulder. "I love you," she whispered as an afterthought. Before, those words were hard to come by, but now they rolled off her tongue fervently toward him.

"I love you," he replied. He finally slept with his wet eyelashes against her cheek, and she sighed in contentment, quickly following him.

* * *

"I am perfectly fine!"

"You most certainly are _not!_ Lie back down!"

Maleficent swung her legs out of bed and staggered to her feet. She hissed at the pain that shot through her abdomen. "I'm _fine!_"

Diaval caught her by the elbows. She glowered at him, but he didn't look away, meeting her gaze with earnest, troubled eyes. "Please lie back down," he implored. "I know you're bored. Just a few more days so it doesn't hurt as badly."

The cabin fever-ridden Maleficent reluctantly sank back onto the mattress. Her flesh pulled uncomfortably whenever she moved. "If I have to stay here a few more days, I might just have to kill you to entertain myself." He didn't understand her boredom; he spent his days as usual, waiting on her every beck and call. Water, food, hugs, kisses, entertainment. He even put his ring on her finger while she was asleep, and she didn't remember until two days later that she had lost hers. Upon noticing that his was missing, she scolded him and tried to give it back—it really didn't fit her that well—but he made her keep it, saying if she didn't have something to twist around her finger she would go insane. That was probably true, but she felt guilty wearing his ring. It was his by the rule of _finders-keepers-losers-weepers_.

He pulled the poetry book onto the bed and laid it on her chest, blinking at her hopefully. She sighed and opened it. He curled at her side and waited for her to begin reading. She turned to the more romantic, fluffy, gross part of the book and started to read, "I carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)…" Diaval snuggled against her like a puppy with a bright smile on his face, and she couldn't help but relate to the text for the first time since she had read the book all the way through. Turning the page, she continued, "How do I love thee? Let me count the ways."

She read poem after poem, kissing Diaval in between them to make sure he stayed awake, because she was not reading poetry aloud just to herself. He would pull her closer to him when he heard something he liked. "If thou must love me, let it be for naught except love's sake only. Do not say 'I love her for her smile—her look—her way of speaking gently—for a trick of thought that falls in well with mine, and certes brought a sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—For these things in themselves, Beloved, may be changed, or change for thee…" Diaval was squeezing her tightly about the middle, and she almost glared at him, but instead finished the poem, "But love me for love's sake, that evermore thou mayst love on, through love's eternity."

The silence rang out for a very long, still moment. "That one's my favorite," he announced.

"I can tell from the way you're squeezing me like a stuffed animal."

He jumped away from her as though burnt. "Are you alright?" he demanded worriedly, scanning over her. "I'm sorry."

She kissed his cheek. "I'm fine, birdy. Calm down. I'm not made of glass." He still stared at her, as though fearing her imminent destruction. "C'mon, I'll read that one again." He smiled, thoroughly enticed, and snuggled up close again. She began again, "If thou must love me, let it be for naught except love's sake only…"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I don't even know what to think of this chapter. Ugh. The lemon is awkward (my first and only shot at writing anything like the pathetic piece of shit you will see below) and basically nothing of sustenance happens. Nothing really interesting happens in the next chapter either, but I'm trying to pass the time more quickly to accommodate my plot structure, which relies on Aurora being queen of the human kingdom. I really should've thought more about this whole story's plot before I started slapping words onto paper. -.- But, anyway, now that you've been thoroughly warned about its ugliness, read if you dare. **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, but I lost my list of the sources that I had for the snippets of poetry you'll read below. They are ****_not_****mine. If you want to read the whole thing, I suggest googling the words. **

* * *

"Shut up and kiss me," Maleficent snarled at him. Her tongue easily probed its way into his mouth, and he moaned into her. His back was pinned against the wall of their palace. It was cold, but she was warm, and she was all over him. He didn't know how their clothes had been discarded so quickly, but he didn't care. She was pulling him, urging him, downward. So down he went, almost immediately dropping onto his knees before her. He wrapped his arms around her hips and pressed his lips to the outside of her flower. Her legs parted obediently, granting him complete access, while she fisted her hands in his hair and gasped. He knew her so well.

How many times had he done this? Diaval didn't know. How many years had passed? Who the hell cared? He rasped his tongue over her pearl with no hint of tentativeness or hesitation. She began to scratch at the base of his skull, and he purred in satisfaction while he licked over her again. His tongue was all he needed to satisfy her, and he loved the fact that he had such control over her, just in this one way. Just as her thighs began to tremble and her hips began to shake toward him, he stopped. He loved hearing her ask nicely. He loved it almost as much as he loved this in general.

She blinked down to him, knees weak. "Please, Diaval, please." She scratched at the base of his skull again. "Please." If he didn't do something, she'd take herself, and she'd do it screaming his name. "Diaval, dammit, please! Take me!"

He smirked into her and flicked his tongue over her pearl a few times. He licked up her and down her and up once again, and he tasted all of her warm wetness. His hands groping her hips held her up when her knees went too weak to do so, and he drew himself back up to her height, kissing her fervently before she even had a chance to take a deep breath. She scratched at the base of his spine, his favorite place as a bird to be scratched. He moaned. She pushed him firmly against the wall, and vines snaked out to tie him there.

Anxiety overcame his face. She laughed mirthlessly. "Little birdy shouldn't make his mistress say please. That's naughty." She kissed him and whispered, "What do you want?" They hadn't done this before. This was strange to him, new, but there was something about being at her mercy that made him grow and harden beyond belief. "Tell me what you want, birdy, or you won't get it." Her nails grazed over his nipple, and he shivered. "Hmm? Is birdy going to tell his mistress what he wants?"

He shivered again. "Take me. Take me, please, mistress."

Her finger stroked his shaft. He moaned. "No!" Her hand smacked his ass. "Quiet, birdy! You must stay quiet." She kissed his lips and murmured, "No noises, little birdy. Shush…You understand?" He nodded jerkily, so turned on by this dominance she was presenting. "Good, birdy." She stroked him again. He jerked under her touch but didn't let out any of the various noises that he wished to. "_Quiet_." She grazed her nails lightly over his torso until she was kneeling before him.

She licked his tip, and then she took him into her mouth. There were none of his usual noises, no chirruping or purring or moaning for more. He had remarkable self-control. She swirled her tongue around him, and his every muscle clenched, but he made not a single sound. This wouldn't do at all. She stood before him and looked him over. Trembling, flushed, his almost frightened eyes hot with desire. "Oh, my poor birdy. Is this the effect I have on you?" He nodded. "You poor little thing." She stood on her tiptoes for a moment, and she slid down on his hot, hard shaft. His eyes grew wide into saucers. He was just on the edge of crying out to her. She rocked against him. A whimper hissed out between his teeth.

She stopped. "Be quiet, birdy." Her eyes bored into his, and he nodded. "Or else I'll gag you." She rocked into him again, her walls quickly adjusting to his familiar length, though in an unfamiliar position. "Can you be quiet?" He nodded again. She smiled. "I thought so." She lifted and slid down him again, and again, and again, picking up speed each time. His knees were going weak; his bound wrists were the only things holding him up. She wrapped her arms around him, and their legs entangled while she moved faster and faster against him. She was nearing her climax, and judging by his grunts grinding through clenched teeth, so was he. She wanted to stop and gag him, but how? How could she just _stop?_ She couldn't. She was completely out of control. He thrust into her with each rocking motion she gave.

She raked her nails down his back and bit his shoulder to restrain the shriek that she muffled with his flesh. His bounds broke, and he wrapped her in his arms as they collapsed to the floor together. He kissed across her collarbones, glad to be free but so completely satisfied. "That was fun," he finally said. "Let's go again?"

She laughed into his shoulder. "Get off me." She let him drag her up. The gash on her belly had smoothed over into a scar, a faint ripple in her alabaster skin that occasionally gave a ghosting prick of pain but was fully healed. But almost as soon as Diaval had deemed her able to leave the bed, a blizzard had blown in, and they had been unable to leave the palace for a week due to the snow that had piled up in front of the door. Their time was mostly spent huddled under the covers with Maleficent reading and Diaval listening. When her throat got too sore to speak, Diaval would tell her stories about growing up as a raven, and she learned some of the stories behind his scars.

She learned that his story wasn't a happy one. He shrugged off the pain he'd been dealt as a fledgling as though it didn't hurt him at all. Maybe it didn't. Maybe, being a bird, he grieved quickly and efficiently and then moved on with life. But the story of how he lost his mother was too heartbreaking for her to listen, and he didn't like her touching that side of his neck. She respected him and his wishes, but a tiny, tiny part of her wanted to push him to see just how far she could go before he _broke_.

Still breathless, she kissed his cheek. She couldn't say she_ liked_ tying him up. But, as always, their little dance was a perfect performance. He bent his head just a bit, and they bumped noses awkwardly. He smiled, and she smiled, and their lips brushed. She took his hand and pushed his ring back on to his finger. It had been her toy for alleviating boredom long enough; it was time it was returned to its rightful owner. He frowned into their kiss, but he didn't break away.

"I think I really like you," he whispered.

"I think it's mutual," she replied.

He pulled her hand back to the bed. "I think it's getting cold in here." He began to reassemble his crinkled garments and slid them on one at a time. She pulled on her gown with ease, and he marveled at how simple she made pulling it on seem. He always had to fight with it to get it off of her, and usually they had to stop for her to take it off just so he wouldn't rip it.

They curled up under the blankets together and hugged each other close. "Do you want me to read your favorite again?" Maleficent asked. Diaval nodded eagerly. She raised an eyebrow at him. "Say _please_."

He sighed. "Please!" he bleated. He fluttered his eyelashes at her. "Please?" he repeated. He kissed her cheek.

"Alright," she agreed with a smirk. The page was dog-eared from being read so much, and even though they both had it memorized, there was something comforting and methodical about the way their eyes scanned across the page in synchronization. Diaval couldn't read the letters written there, but he knew what it said. She began to read it to him once again. "If thou must love me, let it be for naught…"

Diaval's eyes fell closed. His eyelashes brushed her cheek. A soft feeling came over her chest. She finished reading his poem, and she continued onto the next, and the one after, and the one after. He traced her collarbones with his finger and listened, feeling her chest rise and fall with her breaths. When she finished one, he whispered, almost inaudibly, "I love you." The expression on his face was dark and brooding. He hadn't been exactly the same since he had carried her back to their home with an arrow protruding from her side. The differences were subtle, but they were there.

She stiffened as she always did at those words, but she returned them and kissed him. His eyes were opened to slits, and she took note of the tears that swam there. "What's wrong, birdy?" she queried, lowering the book to her side. "Are you alright?"

He shamefully pushed his face into her shoulder and nodded. His lashes were wet against her soft skin. He could feel her concerned eyes boring into him, and though he couldn't explain to her the exact emotions going through his chest, he quoted, "The nymph that undoes me is fair and unkind; no less than a wonder by nature designed. She's the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye; and the cause of a flame that never can die." His voice was shaky and watery.

She rolled closer to him and wrapped him in her arms. "I love with a passion put to use. In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith, I love thee with a love I seemed to lose." Somehow, she understood. Her mind couldn't fathom his complexity of emotions, but her heart loved him, so she understood him. She kissed his cheeks.

He pressed his lips to her jawline. "Thank you." He blinked tiredly. The tears went unshed. He began to shakily massage her back and shoulders. He was always careful to avoid her stumps. He never touched them, not even once, not even an accidental brushing of his fingertips against the charred, feathery flesh. But she could always feel his curiosity just below the surface.

"It's okay," she encouraged quietly. His hands stilled on her back. He knew what she meant. "It's okay; go ahead." He soothed her pain, physical and emotional. Couldn't he calm and soothe the turmoil that her stumps brought?

She felt him tentatively brush the skin around them, scratching around their bases like he did with her horns. She clutched his shirt and waited with bated breath. He touched them for a mere moment, but it was enough. Memories came flooding back at her, suppressed things that Diaval helped her cover up and hide. Diaval had helped her forget. Now he was making her _remember_. Old wounds ripped open anew, and she thought she might shriek, but his hands brought her back to reality. "Mistress?" Only one called her that. She took a deep breath, and it smelled of him, blackberries and earth. She was safe. Diaval was safety, and he was warmth, and he was wings, and he was everything she needed him to be. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she responded softly, though her voice was shaky. And she was fine. He was the balm to her burns. He was her mate. How long now? She tried to count backward in her head. Nearly three years since the beast's birth, and wasn't it a year before that? At least. And still, every day, they learned more about each other.

"Mmm." He kissed across her collarbones, trying to pull her gown out of the way. Her flesh tingled at him. He ever so gently dragged his teeth across her bones. "Cuddle me crazy," he murmured.

She gave a light laugh. "Of course." They kissed and warmed each other with love. He combed through her hair with his hands and sucked on her tongue, grazing over it with his teeth. When breathless, they broke away. Maleficent thought about this, what she'd become. He helped her hide her memories, and then when she couldn't fight them any longer, he helped her drown them in their love.

"Will we go to the cottage tomorrow?"

"As soon as we can get out of this castle."

"You could put me out a window, and I would shovel the snow away," he suggested mildly, but his earnestness was enough to tell her that she was not the only one suffering from cabin fever.

She stroked the smooth side of his neck. "Why would I do something like that when I can keep you all to myself?" There were, after all, some upsides to not being able to leave the castle. It gave her an excuse to keep him around. She craved his presence, his voice, his smell, his taste. She was addicted to his sense of humor and his clever mind and the feeling of his heartbeat under her hand.

Amusement twinkled in his eyes. "Well, I might think you would do it to get out of this wretched castle and away from my constant pestering for a few hours," he teased. But there was a hint of seriousness, a shade of dark truth, in his eyes.

She frowned. "If it was my decision I would never spend an hour without you for the rest of my life."

His jaw clenched. "I annoy you more than a festering sore." His eyes were hurting. He couldn't possibly really believe that, could he? _Could_ he?

"You most certainly do not." She bumped their noses and their crowns. Her lips were about to brush his, but she didn't give him that, not yet. "You are the most important part of my life, you silly bird." Almost, almost, not quite there. She could feel the tension tingling between their lips. "You taught me to love again." It was just a slight push, and she kissed him sweetly, their lips working in a rhythm they both had memorized. "My sweet," she whispered into him.

"Mistress," he returned quietly.

"That is not my name." She tilted his chin down slightly.

"Maleficent," he amended. And that was all they needed, two broken spirits somehow healing each other.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I am almost done writing this story. Two more chapters till its end! If anyone is following Moorsville, it's probably going to dwindle on updates a bit, but I'm going to try to finish OBaL before I start on another new plot bunny. Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

"What are you brooding over?" Diaval asked, curiously peering at her face. "Hmm?" He touched her hand with his, and he felt a prickle of guilt that, though years had passed, he'd been unable to fulfill his promise of getting her another ring.

Her eyes danced over their beastie, now fourteen years old. "Regret," she admitted, her chin dipping toward her breastbone. The summer was sweet and bright, and she longed to fly through the open skies as she once would. Regret was something she struggled with too much. Diaval didn't understand; he knew no regret. He acted on his heart's feeling and never regretted anything he felt to be right. But he was still a comfort. His presence let her soften up when she was rigidly fighting memories. He chased away her demons that made her back ache infuriatingly. And he had a knack for memorizing almost any poem she read to him, which led to him whispering quiet sweet-nothings to her in the dead of the night when he could sense her inner turmoil.

But he did none of these things now. He followed her gaze to the pretty teenager, and he remembered the way she pulled on his feathers. She never touched him like Maleficent did; she didn't know the pleasurable way to touch wings. "Is it worth it?" he asked softly. "Revenge, I mean." His mind floated back over many years, back to the bloody corpse of a black bird and the man relishing in his success of killing the pest. The farmer still lived on that very land. Men lived a long time. Diaval wondered if he would live as long as a man, or perhaps even longer. He knew fairies were immortal, and he was but a product of a fairy's magic. Maybe he was immortal, too. That was alright. He was content to spend forever with Maleficent.

She didn't answer him for quite a long time, and finally she replied, "No. It didn't…It didn't fix anything." She tilted her head back to look at the sky. "I would have been more satisfied to slay him in his sleep, I think." His hand was a comfort to her. She had finally broken the habit of reaching to twist the ring on her finger after one unfortunate incident where she almost broke the slender digit waking from a nightmare only to discover that Diaval had left the palace, but she still missed the little trinket, and she often traced her finger up and down in the hope that it would magically reappear.

He frowned. "Is that still an option? I would be happy to oblige." There was not a hint of humor in his eyes, nor in his voice. And she knew that, if she gave him the order and the means, he would kill Stefan without a question or a second thought. "Usually hawks are the ones to kill snakes, but in this case I would be willing to make an exception."

Her eyes flickered to him. "You would do it, wouldn't you? You would kill him if I asked you to."

"Of course. I'd behead him with a pocketknife if you asked it."

She shook her head. "I will not do any more to exact my revenge." _I will not let him become a killer for me._ Nothing would right the king's great wrong; no amount of torture or death would place her wings back on her body. Her head slid onto his shoulder, and he placed his hand around her waist. He always made her feel special with his little touches and quiet murmurings. Special. Wanted. Needed. Loved. How did he make her feel like she meant something in the world when she was so caught up in self-hatred and other detrimental emotions?

He rested his crown against the base of her horn. "I love you." She could feel his lips brush against her ear, and a chill crept down her spine. "And if it's any comfort at all, she pulls my feathers in an incredibly obnoxious way. It's like she thinks I'm domesticated."

"Are you not?" She raised a teasing eyebrow at him.

"By you, perhaps, but by no one else." He looked away. "I have never known a man to give a kind touch, and I am no one's_ pet _but yours. Would it be acceptable for me to—never mind." He couldn't say he was fond of the girl's incessant playfulness, but he wasn't going to take a shit on her head for a little bit of tugging his feathers. He kissed her temple. He wanted to chase away all of her negative emotions. He wanted her to be nothing but purely happy. But there were some things—many things—that were out of his control, like the mild affection combined with annoyance they had both come to feel toward the cursed princess.

_I have never known a man to give a kind touch._ Maleficent's eyes fluttered closed at those words. The scar tissue on his neck was too much for her to see. She thought that hurt her more than the aching of her back and shoulders; the fact that anyone would dare lay a finger on Diaval grated against her in such a painful way that she found a fiery rage burning within her heart. "Let's go home now," she whispered.

Home they went, away from the cottage with their cursed fledgling, away from the bumbling pixies turned human, away from everything that caused them pain, but the pain followed them until their clothes formed a lake on the floor, and they made an protected island of limbs between them. Driven they were, by love and sadness and regret and the comfort they found in one another.

Their legs were entangled when they fell asleep. But Maleficent's rest was short lived; as soon as she began to drift off, Diaval began to thrash and moan. Her eyes snapped open, and she sucked in the image of him, hands clawing at his neck. Reality didn't strike her until she smelled the salty, metallic scent of human blood, and she rolled on top of him and shook him vigorously. She pinned his arms to his sides and kept shaking him. "Diaval!" she snapped. "Wake up!"

Tears ran down his cheeks, and he opened his watery eyes to her. He gave a strangled cry. His mouth gaped open in an O, but he couldn't breathe. "Breathe, Diaval, breathe!" She was still shaking him without realizing it, her hands digging painfully into his shoulders. He gave another choked cry and managed to inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Some lines of his great scar were torn open anew. She trailed her fingers over it to heal him, and he cringed away from her. "I won't hurt you," she tried to assure him, but she knew just how useless those words were.

His face softened gradually as his mind churned enough to recall her, and her name, and her touch and scent. "Maleficent," he whispered, almost to himself. He was sweating but freezing at the same time.

She touched his hair and combed it back with her fingers. "Are you alright?" she asked after a few more moments.

He touched her hand hesitantly. "I am now."

She curled up closer to him. She knew. She understood. She'd been there. "I love you." She went there almost daily. He always chased her pain away. It was her turn, if only this once, to return the tiny favor.

"I love you." He was still shaking.

She wiped the tears off of his cheeks and kissed him sweetly. He wouldn't be going back to sleep, if his current trembling state was any evidence. "Do you want me to read to you?" He nodded jerkily, and she summoned the poetry book to her hand. "I'll read you a new one, okay?" He didn't give her a response, so she read, "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." His muscles began to relax, and she kept reading to the poem's end. She turned the page. "Thou art my lute, by thee I sing…" Though his eyes had fallen closed, she knew he was awake, and she read until the dawn. "Pretty birdy, do you feel better now?"

He nodded and laid his cheek against her chest. A small smile crept onto his lips. "Thank you." He placed a kiss on one collarbone. "You make me whole when I am halved, and you fill me when I am empty, and there are none more shiny than my heart when I am with you."

She turned her head ever so slightly to peer at him. "Which poem was that from?"

"I just made it up." The light was creeping in through the window, but neither of them minded. Maleficent waited for Diaval's breaths to steady in sleep, and she allowed her own to do the same.

* * *

Days passed by them more and more quickly, streaming in like minutes rather than months. Diaval considered it a side effect of his newly acknowledged immortality. "Just _think_ about it, mistress! Not twenty-five years ago was I just a baby bird in a nest, and now I'm like a _god!_"

She rolled her eyes. "I asked you to stop calling me that." She watched their nestling read in her bed. "This means I'm stuck with you forever." She winked at him with one emerald eye and stroked the back of his palm. Two months. They had two months before the curse would take hold. And she had no doubt that it would take hold; humans could not thwart the power of any fair folk, let alone the guardian of the moors.

Months passed like minutes to them. Diaval laid his head in her lap and blinked up at her. "I would spend eternity with no one else, ever."

"I can think of a few more preferable—oh, don't give me that look, I'm joking." She stroked his hair. "My best possible forever would have not an hour spent away from you." She scratched at the base of his skull, and he purred in delight. "Sweet little birdy." He caught her hand and kissed her palm.

She responded by tracing his collarbones with one long index finger. He shivered. "Pretty," he whispered. "If your eyes were gemstones, I would pluck them out and line my nest with them."

Her eyebrows quirked. "I assume you meant that to be a compliment?"

"How isn't it?"

She laughed a bit and toyed with his thick, dark hair. "Some might take it as a threat," she teased. Diaval would never threaten her. At least, not truthfully. Soft lips leaned over to meet his, and he grinned into their kiss, pleased with himself. His hands fisted in her hair. She was trapped, bent over at an angle painful to her back and shoulders, but she didn't care. She didn't care at all. In one smooth motion, she agilely slipped her legs from beneath her and lay down next to him. His hands left her hair and went to massage her shoulders until her pain ebbed away.

He bent his lips away from her. She hungrily reached for more, more, more of him, but he bumped their crowns together and let their noses brush. "I think this is fun." Her lips chased his, but he was extraordinarily good at playing keep-away with his kisses. "You're too eager," he teased. His own eagerness was stirring deep within him.

"You talk too much," she growled, lunging at his face. She jammed her tongue in between his lips before he could pull away. Teeth grazed it playfully. She ground her hips against his, and he moaned. She stroked the crotch of his pants and felt him jump in anticipation. "I think we should have some _fun._" A cloaking spell weaved its way around them, concealing them completely to any onlookers. It was a little chilly, but neither of them minded, their skin warmed by each other's touches and caresses. Her thighs trembled under his tongue. Her hands fisted in his hair while she moaned and ground against his mouth. He had her memorized, a line in his memoir repeated over and over. She cried out to him while her muscles clenched around him, and he smirked into her.

They tussled for dominance with the raven finally pinning his mistress beneath him. He laughed smugly into her ear. "Mistress," he whispered. "Your wish is my command." Her eyes flashed up to him, and he didn't need to hear her words to read the needs written across her face. He met her needs with all the grace of a loyal servant, with all the passion of a devoted mate.

They curled together like puppies, and she nuzzled his cheek. "I asked you to stop calling me that."

"Did you?" he teased. Their swollen lips met. "I don't seem to recall."

"You're silly."

"I'm _your_ silly. Forever," he promised softly. The ground beneath them was cold, and night had fallen. He reached for his shirt, but she snatched it away from him. He didn't complain, but instead took her cloak and wrapped it around himself. They walked back to the castle together, and Diaval fell asleep to the reading of romantic poetry. Maleficent's voice didn't fade until several hours later, when she assured herself that no nightmares would harm him on that night, and she let her eyes fall closed, confident that she had given what little good she could give to the world.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Almost done! One chapter after this one! :)**

* * *

"It's not your fight."

Diaval's jaw dropped open. Not his fight? Not his _fight?_ It'd been his fight from the very beginning. It'd been his fight before their fledgling was conceived. It'd been his fight from the moment he flung the farmer's net off of his man's body and fearfully demanded the whereabouts of his beautiful plumage to the elfin-faced woman walking away from him. He knew that tone of her voice; it scalded him. Like she couldn't be _bothered_. Gods, she was hurting, but so was he. She was his mate, for gods' sake, and if somebody was going to kill her he wanted to be the one to do it. He exasperatedly stormed after her, helping guide the prince's body. "I need you, Diaval. I can't do this without you, Diaval," he mocked under his breath.

"I can hear you."

_That was my intention_. He didn't voice his thoughts. He walked after her into the castle. The wall of iron thorns loomed over them, and he softly queried, "Mistress?" in the false hope that she had some magical way of obliterating it. The metal turned a smart red-orange when she drew too near to it. He ducked after her clumsily, all limbs. Grace didn't come by him naturally.

Her horns almost got caught several times, and he cringed each time. So much iron. Since the hell _when_ did the king have enough money to buy this much iron? The whole place was one big fairy death trap. All of his instincts screamed one single command: _run._ But he would not run, because he went in knowing he wouldn't come out alive, and even though he knew he was afraid of death, there was no life worth living that didn't have Maleficent in it.

The prince's kiss didn't work. He was _wrong_. And she still rubbed it in, still pushed that harsh fact down his throat and between the pores of his skin. "I told you." She had told him. She told him that she didn't believe in love when love was all he'd ever felt for her. Her heart hardened against him. He followed her from behind the curtain and halted a few feet away from the bed. He had no right to approach the bed of his sleeping nestling. He was _wrong_.

He listened intently while his mate spoke to her, listened to the words peal from her tongue, her voice floating down to her. He wondered if she could hear. And then, he knew that _she _was wrong. Love _was_ real. Love was there, in front of him, in the first tears he'd seen her shed in such a long time. Dark eyes flicked open, and he could only muster, "No truer love," while his eyes swam with tears.

He saw the iron net coming down before it did. He was helpless against it. He tried to squawk, tried to call out to her, but couldn't. And then she was trapped. He flapped about her and clawed at a man's face. He put an eye out. A single eye. But gods, she was in pain, writhing on the ground like a kicked dog, and he couldn't defend her. _Change me!_ he willed her. _Change me!_ He could pull it off of her. He could free her. They could fight.

There were so many men and so much iron. And then he was very, very big. Flames poured freely from his maw at a single breath, and the ant-like creatures below him scattered. He grabbed the net and flung it off of her. Chains bit into him, but he hovered over her protectively, releasing flames upon the impeding men. But it was too hot. He would burn her. He backed up, hoping to give her some space. He willed her to climb onto his back so they could flee—he had absolutely no problems busting through that convenient glass window—but she would not leave Aurora.

They circled about her with their iron shields. He regretted his decision to back away and struggled nearer to her. He would blow them away. He would sprawl their guts across the stone floor. That was something he soon realized about this form: it was as utterly enraged as it was big. He was angry. He was angry enough to kill, angry enough to crunch bones and ravage intestines.

He was dragged backwards. Chains flung over his legs. They encased his thin, useless wings that were far too small to lift his body. They held his maw closed. They pulled him down, down, until he sprawled helplessly on the floor. In a matter of minutes, he went from a dragon to a pathetic, wriggling snake. He slammed into some pillars. They crumbled around him, but did nothing. The circle split for the king to enter. _No…_ He lowered his head and blinked at her, burnt, afraid, prepared to greet death. _Maleficent, I'm sorry_. He gave a moan, the sound of an animal in agony. She looked at him with her bright emerald eyes. Her lips mouthed his name, but he couldn't hear her voice.

For a split second, he feared that she would change him to his natural form. She would expect him to escape for himself. She would expect him to move on with life. She would…She would want him to watch over their fledgling, even if he couldn't change his form anymore. But he would rather die than leave her here alone. He tried to shake his head at her. A line of humans fell over. Spears flew at his great eye, punctured it, and he whined like a pained mongrel.

He tried to put up more of a fight when the king whipped her with the iron chains. He was near the point of panic when the blade was about to befall her, and he wrenched at the chains binding his jaw. The links snapped one at a time, but not quickly enough.

There was a flash of white light, and then she was flying. She severed the chains binding him while he watched with his good eye. He shook himself free and pawed at the humans at his feet. More spears launched toward him, but he closed his other eye quickly enough. He didn't need_ eyes_ to unload flames from his gut. Whips lashed against his hide. Arrows rained down upon him. He felt them prick him one at a time. Some went deeper than others.

Glass rained down on him. Something—someone—broke the very conveniently glass window. He tried to unfurl his wings. He could fly far enough to get out of here. But he couldn't open his eyes. Blades slid into his thin, papery wings. Where had she gone? Surely she didn't _leave_ him! She would never—she could never! Spears dug deeper into his hide. They found his sensitive underside, where the scales were thinner and the tissues more sensitive.

The pain stilled, and he felt blackness tug at his mind. He willingly went to it.

"Where is the king?" a dark-skinned man asked Maleficent.

She landed in front of them. "The king is dead." Her eyes flickered to Diaval, collapsed onto his side with blades and spears protruding from his abdomen. "I ask that you let us leave in peace. The war is over. There has been enough bloodshed." She needed to go to him. But she wouldn't move—couldn't move—until she knew they wouldn't attack her.

Some of the men protested, but the dark-skinned man raised his hand against them. "My pledge was to the line of King Henry. I answer to our new queen, Aurora, and her order alone."

The teenager peered from behind the crumbling remnants of a wall. She drew herself up to her full height and lifted her head, though her fingers trembled with fear. "Do as she asks, general." She carried herself remarkably well. The men backed away. Weariness came over their faces. Some limped from the room, leaving their armor discarded on the floor. The stronger ones carried the wounded and the dead.

Maleficent approached Diaval's collapsed form. "Diaval?" she whispered to the massive dragon. Her exhausted magic still curled toward him, and she knelt by his human shape. His left eye was bloodied beyond repair. The arrows and spears protruded from him in places. "Diaval," she breathed, horrified.

"Maleficent," he returned quietly. His obsidian eye peered up at her. "I love you."

"Hush, don't try to talk." She grabbed onto the first arrow and pulled firmly until it was free from his abdomen. His eye closed, and he offered no complaints against her while she struggled to produce enough magic to heal his larger injuries. She knelt next to him until her knees ached and her powers were depleted enough to make her light-headed. She needed to sleep. But she wouldn't leave him, and she wasn't strong enough to carry him home, nor could she produce the magic to change him to a raven.

Aurora, once free from the onslaught of soldiers and harried maids, sat next to her and gave her a hug. "Is he alright?"

"He will be." She touched his hand. His ring was still there. A weary sigh came from her lungs. He was warm, his face sooty, his body burned in places. "Your prince friend is around here somewhere." _That is, assuming they haven't pulled his body out of the rubble yet_, she added silently.

Aurora dragged herself to her feet and flagged down one of the maids. "Please show them a place they can rest."

The mere idea of using more magic was enough to make her drop dead, but the idea of a resting place was enticing enough to lift him from the ground. He levitated to the bedchambers, and she curled next to him. One filthy wing draped across him as a cover, and she slept against him with her arm sprawled across him.

She awoke by morning the next day, feeling relatively replenished and hardly like she'd been through war the day before, but Diaval was still unconscious. Maids brought up tea and meals, and after checking for poisoning, she ate them. She healed the remnants of his injuries and waited patiently. He awoke with her name on his lips. "Maleficent?" He weakly reached for her.

She let their fingers intertwine. "Diaval." She kissed his sooty cheek.

A soft smile came onto his face. "Are we dead?"

"I don't think so."

"Good. The afterlife shouldn't hurt so damn bad." He snuggled closer to her and tilted his head at an odd angle to peer at her, his blind eye dull and unfocused. "I love you."

"I love you." She rested her crown against his temple. "I'm sorry about your eye."

"I got two for a reason, you know," he teased. He relaxed against her, content to sleep forever with her warm body at his side.

She traced patterns on his chest. "Get some more rest. We'll go home when you feel better." Ruby lips pressed against his. She cradled his head in her arms and waited until his breaths leveled in sleep. She sighed and reluctantly pulled herself away from him to fetch some water and a washcloth. She wiped the dirt and ash from his face, cleansed what little remained of his gashes. He had a few new scars. That was alright.

Three swift knocks came to the door, and Aurora entered. "Godmother?" she whispered. She hugged the fairy. "Has he awoken yet?"

She nodded. "He's exhausted. Understandably." A wry smile played at her lips. "We'll be out of your hair by tomorrow or the day after."

The conversation between them eventually dwindled down to nothing, and the queen left to boss around some more people. The job seemed to suit her.

By the next day, Diaval was strong enough to stagger to his feet and demand that they not stay in that death trap a moment longer, so with glee, he and Maleficent burst from the windows of the castle and took to the rapidly spinning headwinds. The raven had to stop and rest often, while his mistress's muscles ached from years of atrophy, and it took several hours for them to reach home. They curled in their own bed together. The raven-man pushed the knots from her back and shoulders. The morrow promised them both a good bath and feather-cleaning on Maleficent's part, but this night they slept with each other in the most innocent of ways.

"I love you," Diaval whispered to her sleeping form draped across him. He stroked her tawny feathers and scratched around the bases of the wings, stumpy scars no longer. He kissed her forehead and went back to sleep.

* * *

"If you pull my feathers one more time," Maleficent threatened.

"I endured_ years_ of your incessant tugging!" he shot back while combing through the dark feathers. Loose ones danced and swirled in the wind, away from them. Dust and grime met his fingers.

"I did not _tug_," she revoked. "I _stroked_."

"Well, _stroking_ isn't getting me anywhere on account of getting your wings clean!"

She huffed indignantly. "I am perfectly capable of cleaning my own wings!"

He stopped, crossing his arms. "Alright, then. Clean your own wings." He ripped off his shirt and jumped in the water hole, disregarding his resignation to help her. If she didn't want help, she surely wasn't getting it from him. He scrubbed grime from his hair and pulled clumps of dried blood and cinders from himself. The water cleaned him well, and he sighed into the rippling movements around him.

She made no obvious attempt to preen her own feathers and dropped into the water beside him, her face concerned. He looked at her. "Don't give me that look like you've hurt my feelings. I'm a little thicker than eggshells, you know," he reminded her lightly. Her gown was drenched in the water about her. He kissed her and started to unbutton it.

She smiled into his lips, and her hands ran over his taut shoulders. "I'd hate to think I offended your beautiful self." She devilishly dipped her hand beneath the water and stroked the outside of his sodden undershorts. He swallowed hard. "My sweet little birdy," she whispered to him. "A little eager, aren't you?"

He murmured into her lips, "I am always eager for you, my love."

Her heart skipped a beat at his hands that slid up and down her wet torso. Sodden feathers tickled their cheeks. She bumped her forehead against his and let their noses touch. "I shan't keep you waiting, then, my pet." And she didn't.

* * *

It was several weeks later when she awoke alone. One wing was stretched over where Diaval was supposed to lie, but he was gone. She tried not to worry. Not worrying, though, was not really an option when it came to her mate. She did the aerial patrols alone as she once did, but they were lonely and empty without the raven's persistent squawking and spiraling through the air in ways he thought impressed her. The sun was at high noon, and her mate had gone with no sign of where he was or when he'd return.

Shamefully, she headed to several of their favorite places seeking him out. He wasn't at the cottage. He wasn't anywhere in their palace. He wasn't at the river with the pollywogs and trolls. By the time the sun was setting, she was near panic and began to organize patrols to search for him, when he made his appearance. "Maleficent?" he questioned, concerned at her ruffled feathers and stiff posture.

She practically flung herself at him. "Where the hell have you _been?_" Before he could answer, she continued, "I've worried myself _ill_ over you! Half of this land is searching for you! What the_ hell_, Diaval?" She wanted to slap him. She wanted to cry. She didn't know which was worse—being abandoned, or fearing it. And that was what the fuss was over, wasn't it? She thought he'd left her, and that had scared her so bad that she was willing to destroy half the moors to keep him near.

He gently took her hands in his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you." Quieter, he added, "I thought you were awake this morning, when I left." His onyx gaze didn't wander from hers, but he pushed a familiar light band onto her finger. "I promised you another ring, so I got you one." He kissed her forehead. "The jeweler took several hours to find metal that wasn't iron. I didn't mean to take so long."

Tears budded behind her eyes, and she hugged him close. "Thank you, Diaval," she whispered. "I love you." His scarred neck pressed against her cheek, but he didn't protest or move away from the touch.

He kissed one high cheekbone. "I love you." He stroked her hair. "I_ am_ sorry, Maleficent." She wondered when the last time he called her _mistress_ was, and she realized that she didn't miss it at all.

She cupped his cheek with her newly ringed finger. "I love you," she repeated. She brought their lips to touch in a sweet, soft kiss. And, for the first time in a very long time, she was wholly content.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Final installment! Big thanks to Diosa Luna for being one of my best reviewers! :) My Spanish isn't excellent, but my teacher will be happy that I've been trying to practice over the summer to feel independent from those dumb internet translators. Disclaimer: I own nothing. Reviews are appreciated! (Also, I might accept Maleval prompts. Not making any promises, but if you take the chance, it might ****_just_**** get written!)**

* * *

Years passed like days to the immortal couple, and they didn't often count them. They lived by seasons—wet, dry, wet, cold—but didn't count those, either. Who needed to record the age of a creature that would never naturally die?

They split their time between the moors and flying to the queen's balcony; as the years passed, the human kingdom demanded more and more of her time, and she could seldom visit the only place she considered her home. She married the daft prince who could barely read, let alone perform royal duties. They had three daughters and a son. The princesses were wed to princes and lords in neighboring countries, and the two they considered grandparents only saw them when their countries visited.

Maleficent often feared that Aurora was unhappy. She aged quickly, far too quickly. By her fortieth year, her hair that was once woven gold had stiffened and began to lighten to silver in places. Laugh lines and frown lines were permanently engraved in her face. Her heart wasn't bright as it once had been, but when her godmother attempted to bring it to light, she quietly responded, "I wasn't meant to be _happy_, godmother. I was meant to please my people, and I am quite good at it." It was these conversations that hurt the fairy the worst, and after them, Diaval held her and kissed her hair and promised her that it would get better for their beastie. But it didn't.

By her fiftieth year, the queen was weathered, and she looked much older than she truly was. Her husband had died of a bad bout of pneumonia, and she was left alone with her son, but no one asked for her hand in marriage. After all, she was past the age of producing children, so she was useless. She slaved over parchment when the two arrived. "Godmother!" Her eyes weren't the same as they had been before. Her voice was dry.

"Just ignore me, then," Diaval put in drily with a good-natured smile.

She smiled. Her eyes didn't change. "My pretty bird." She turned back to her work and kept signing papers. There had been a time when she never would have ignored them for work, but that time had passed. "I'm sorry, I need to fill out this treaty. It might be the last one I have to do."

The immortals exchanged an alarmed look, and Diaval questioned, "What?" Maleficent couldn't bring herself to speak.

Aurora pursed her lips. "Bartholomew is taking the throne in two more weeks. The kingdom wants a king. I no longer serve a purpose here." There, in her dark eyes, there was a faint twinkle of the joy she held as a lass. "I was hoping I could finally go live in the moors with you, now."

The three exchanged hugs and minor celebrations. They made plans to return in two months to give the queen enough time to make preparations for her final departure from the castle. Maleficent performed research in the youth restoration and preservation magic. A family of three immortals. It was perfect. _Too perfect_, she thought, _to be true_, but she knew that it very well could be true if she got the spells right. Diaval made a fine guinea pig; he could at least tell her when the spells stung, burned, or made him ache.

It was a bright day in the skies when they returned. The headwinds were just right, pushing them perfectly against each other. They danced together in the sparkling sunlight and let the wind tug their feathers. Diaval landed on her wrist in midair and gave a joyous crow. She smirked devilishly, and in a puff of magic, she was supporting him by the armpits several hundred feet above the ground. He squawked with his very human vocal cords. She laughed and kissed his cheek from behind.

"Are you afraid?" she whispered to him.

His eyelids fluttered closed. "Never," he breathed. She squeezed him tighter, and the steady flapping of her wings pushed them about like a ship rocking to the ocean current. "I love you," he murmured.

She could feel his heartbeat through his chest. "I love you." He was warm, the sun touching his black hair and heating it. Her arms gave a dull ache in protest of his weight, but she ignored them. The moment was too special to be violated or changed. It was them, just them, above the ground. Diaval, who had seen her at her best, who had seen her at her worst, placed his trust in her so completely that he allowed her to dangle him in the clouds with no wings. To fall would be certain death. But he knew he wouldn't fall. He knew there was no danger in her arms.

He leaned his head back and let the sun kiss the scars on his face, his eyes closed in the serenity of the moment. "Let's go get our daughter now," he whispered, reaching back to touch her cheek. Her wings guided them to the queen's balcony, and they entered the glass doors.

The once young woman had lost weight since they last saw her. She lay in her bed with light breaths. "Godmother," she greeted hoarsely. Tissues full of blood were at her bedside. "I'm afraid…I won't be able to go to the moors…" Diaval sat on the foot of her bed. Maleficent took her hand and sat beside her, touching her forehead. She was hot with fever. "I have my mother's illness." The dark eyes wouldn't even open to meet hers. "The nurses, they try to hide their words…but they say a few more days, if I'm lucky."

"Beastie," Maleficent whispered. Her hands reached to cup her goddaughter's cheeks. "I can heal you, I can—Let me heal you and take you home, Aurora, please." Tears swam in her emerald eyes.

Magic began to sprout from her fingers, but Aurora's tight clasping hands, all of her strength poured into them, grasped her wrists and stilled her. "Don't." She let their fingers clasp together the way she once did with Philip, before he died, when they were still young. So few years ago. A lifetime ago. "I _am _going home, Mama," she insisted softly. Her dark eyes finally flicked open, but they were distant and unfocused, far too bright for the dimly lit room. "I'm going to some holy home in the great beyond." They fell closed again. "I will be able to fly there...just like you." Softly, almost as an afterthought, she breathed, "I love you."

"I love you, beastie," Maleficent whispered. Tears left her gemlike eyes. Aurora fell asleep, her chest rising and falling evenly. Her skin had gone papery and gray. The fairy knew she would never wake again. She bent her head to her chest and let the tears drop onto the queen's pillow.

Diaval touched her arm gently. Always rational, even when he was hurting. Always loyal. "We need to go home," he told her softly. She couldn't pull herself away from Aurora. She didn't think her wings would work. She wasn't sure if she could support herself against the winds, or if she would get blown around like a feather in the wind. "Maleficent." His voice managed to pry her away from the woman lying on the bed.

She looked to him, and an unbidden anger rose in her chest. Rage lit a flame within her chest. He quickly removed his hand from her arm, reading her expression with ease. Magic spurted from her fingers, and he took to his natural form. He didn't fly from the balcony until she did so, but she abandoned him in a harried need to drown herself in the wind. Their magical moment, less than an hour ago, was forgotten.

It was hours later, sunset, when he approached her from behind. She sat on her favorite cliff under her favorite tree with her knees drawn up to her chest and her chin resting on them. Her feathers were ruffled. Her shoulders shook with silent sobs. "Maleficent." His voice roused her.

She stiffened. "Leave me alone, Diaval." When had he learned how to change himself? Had he been hiding it from her? "I don't wish to see you right now."

He drew closer behind her. "_I_ wish to see_ you_." His voice trembled, on the verge of tears.

She didn't hear it. "Go away."

"No." He sat next to her and touched her hand with his. "I love you."

The coldness of his ring bit into her skin, and she snatched her hand away from him. "There is no such thing as love!" she spat. Venom laced her tone. "Love doesn't exist! It only works to manipulate innocents and harm people!" She tugged her ring from her finger. It rested in the palm of her hand for just a moment before it closed into a fist. She flung it off the cliff. Its shine glimmered in the sun and vanished into the land below.

Diaval's mouth hung open. Twin tears tracked down his cheeks. "I…" He couldn't produce the words. There were no words. Ever so quietly, he pulled his own ring form his finger and reverently placed it on the ground before her. "I am sorry you feel that way." More tears expressed his inner turmoil. "But I—I don't care what you say. I _love_ you, and I will continue to do so until the end of my immortal life." His voice quaked like the earth in tumult. "You have placed your mark upon my soul and body. I would die for you a thousand times over. If you wish for me to leave, I will do so." He waited.

She hugged her arms to her chest. "Go away," she repeated softly, unable to look directly at him.

"Very well." She didn't use her magic on him. He flew away in a flurry of midnight feathers. He didn't squawk at her, didn't circle above, didn't wait for her to change her mind. He just left.

Her knees went weak, and she fell to them on the ground. She cried slowly, quietly, from the severe pain shooting through her chest. She wished to die. She willed her heart to stop beating on the spot, but she had never been that lucky. A shaky hand extended toward the silver band he'd left behind, wing engraving standing out. Holding it up to the sun, she examined it through smeared vision.

There was some small writing in the inside of the band. She squinted and tried to make it out, wiping her eyes to see more clearly. _For my mate, Maleficent, till eternity's end_. She blinked. He hadn't told her that he'd replaced his ring. She had never questioned the matter, and she had never removed her ring before. She swallowed hard. Her gut was churning. She was going to be sick. In one smooth motion, she shoved his ring onto her thumb, the only digit large enough to secure it. Her wings unfurled, and she dove off of the cliff. She had to find the thing that she had discarded so aptly.

It took her three days to pluck the silver band up from the swamp. The trolls and pollywogs spattered her with mud, but she ignored them. She cleansed it and held it up to the light to read the inscription. _I love you, till eternity's end_. A tear leaked from her eye. She had to find him. She had to find him and apologize for her hideous behavior. Where had he gone? Where could he have gone? Back up north, where his family originated? No, he would never have gone that far from her. Would've he?

She started by their palace, where they once slept together in a bed, where they once comforted each other from nightmares, where they once recited poetry. He wasn't there. Some old books were dusty beneath the bed. She pulled one out and turned it to the dog-eared page. She read his favorite poem aloud. A bit of foolish emotion hoped it would somehow summon him to her, but it didn't. "Diaval, I'm sorry," she mumbled to the dry air of the palace. He wasn't there. She needed to keep looking.

Two more days of searching passed before she finally walked down the familiar path to the cottage. It was overgrown, unused for years. She had never been inside before. But she pushed the door open with firm hands. It creaked loudly. Her feet were silent on the wood floor. Many things were still there. Blue and pink dresses were strewn around. Pots and pans littered the counters and cabinets. She neared the old baby basket in which she once spied Aurora, so many and so few years ago. In it now rested her favorite black bird. He had pulled the dusty blankets into a nest shape and nestled there, fast asleep.

"Diaval?" she whispered. She wanted to wake him, but she didn't want to in the same way.

His dark, keen eyes flickered open. He leapt to his human feet before her. His left eye was unfocused and dull. How long had it been since he'd lost it? "What do you want?" She took a small step forward, and he took one backward. Betrayal marred his face. "Did you come to watch me suffer? Or do you intend to kill me and put me out of my misery?" His eyes were swollen and red from crying.

She stopped trying to advance on him. He wouldn't let her get close. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please." She swallowed hard. "I can't-I want…" Her eyes fell to the floor. She had prepared this speech a hundred times over, but now it had left her. "I need you, Diaval. I can't do this without you, Diaval," she whispered. A single tear raced down her cheek.

There was a time when he would've approached her, kissed the tear right off her face, enveloped her in his arms and told her all was forgiven. But he didn't, and that broke her heart. "You can't keep pushing me away. You can't keep telling me to leave and expecting me to come back at your whimsy." He shook his head. "Don't do _this_ to me anymore, Maleficent. Love me or don't. Just _stop_ changing your mind." Another tear trickled from his good eye.

She bent her head almost to her chest. "I'll do anything, Diaval. This time…" She choked back a sob. "This time let me be your servant. I'll do anything you ask. I'll—please, just let me—let me try to fix this."

"I would never ask anything of you except to let me stay by your side for as long as I live." His arms only opened a bit, and she fell into them. Her weak knees gave out, and he supported her while she quaked against him. "I'll love you till eternity's end. I don't know how you ever doubted that."

He was so warm against her. "I was afraid," she admitted. "I love you." She raised her eyes to his and tried but failed to smile. "Master?" Shakily, she slid his ring back onto his finger.

He squeezed her tight enough to hurt. "Don't call me that, ever." He kissed her tear-streaked cheeks. "I love you so much." His breath warmed her neck. Carefully, he lifted her off the ground, and she wrapped her legs around his middle, never unwinding her arms from about his neck. "I don't care who sits on the throne. _You_ are my queen until the end of time."


End file.
